


Until Tomorrow (Love, Leon)

by bitchasslowry



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Allied Spy!Leon, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Medic!Connor, Mild Violence/Intense Scenes, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchasslowry/pseuds/bitchasslowry
Summary: And Leon. He’s something else. He came into Connor’s life like some supernova, an explosion of light in a seemly perpetual darkness, forever fucking up his thoughts on reality and what his purpose in this world is.War teaches Connor how to fight, but Leon teaches him how to feel.
Relationships: Leon Draisaitl/Connor McDavid
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Hockey Big Bang (2020)





	1. A Tale of Two Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily based off of the history of World War Two and uses real life events, places and people within this story. Some of the subject matter within this story could be triggering or intense for some readers if uncomfortable with topics surrounding war, especially WWII and POW Camps. If you feel like this applies to you, please see the end notes for a more detailed and in depth description of the possibly triggering scenes and please read at your own caution. There is very little cute romance in this fic and more so focuses on the trials and tribulations that two gay men face in the midst of war. 
> 
> If you see anyone you know in the tags of this story, please turn around and don’t come back. I mean, if you want to read go ahead but this is just for my own sanity.
> 
> Also a huge thank you to people like Sarah, Kira, Syd, Mik and Q who have been my cheerleaders for this fic for a while. And especially Ann who beta’d this and corrected all of my awful German. You all are gems, thank you :)

_**Kingston Upon Thames Region, September 1943** _

It’s cold and quite frankly damp. Connor hates it. This time of year Richmond Hill is warm with cool winds at night as him and his friends all sit around the dugout of the local baseball diamond, watching Connor’s brother play. Richmond Hill will always be home, and even the smell of old oak and musty book pages remind him of working at the Heritage Site on the weekend. 

But he’s far from that diamond, his work and Richmond Hill. His parents, his brother and life as he knew it all sitting back in Canada while he wallows in the middle of a small town in Britain, forty pounds of gear on his back and eating what is probably not even real meat straight from a can.

Mitch Marner, or dubbed ‘Mouse’ by the group, is sitting beside Connor, turning his nose up nearly every time he smears the pink gunk onto a cracker and brings it near his mouth. He’s a Private, unlike Connor, but also doesn’t want to be here. At one point in their lives Britain sounded lovely. The UK is what every girl back at Connor’s old high school dreamed of going to, but he assures anyone that they certainly don’t want to be here now.

Connor thinks about his friends back home a lot. He’s got time to fill so he thinks. And right now seems to be a good time for thinking. A small fire flickers in front of Connor and it casts a glow on his already bright orange hair. Dunner likes to make fun of him for it, but he repetitively reminds him that his hair isn’t much better.

Vince Dunn is a character, even in the near middle of the night like right now he’s still joking around and poking fun at Quinn, the poor kid, who got posted to the same French town as them back before the Germans took control. He’s American but so is Chucky and Matts who are also from the same platoon Quinn comes from. 

When they first got to France and realized they would be bunked up with a Canadian regiment they decided to make the best of it and called for some friend making, unlike the rest of their fellow Yankees who mostly ignored them.

The bond they have all created has led to the regular huddles around the fire telling stories of their families and just enjoying each other’s company. Next to Connor is Mouse who is still struggling to stomach his food, to which Connor laughs at. Mitch gives him a side glance and pinches his thigh.

“Shut up, Davo. This shit is disgusting and you know it,” he grumbles out and takes a sip of water in an attempt to get the sorry excuse for his dinner down his throat.

“Mouse, once I get you back to Arizona you will freak when you try my ma’s tortilla soup,” Matts, or more formally known as Corporal Auston Matthews, boasts while slinging an arm over Mitch’s shoulders and tugging him into his side.

Auston has sort of taken Mitch under his wing which has done a lot of good for each other. Mitch is bubbly and sometimes a little timid, especially when it comes to the current situations of the world. Almost every single one of the men currently sitting around had been drafted a few months back and sent off to basic training before being shipped away together in an attempt to defeat the Nazis in their rise to power in Europe.

Everyone has their stories for joining; Tito is French-Canadian and wants to help his fellow Frenchmen, Chucky and his brother, Brady, joined together and Zach Hyman is Jewish, and as soon as he heard about the rumblings of what people just like him were going through he signed his name right away.

Hyms is now poking the fire with the end of his rifle chuckling at Mitch and Auston’s exchange. Barzy toys with his dog tags in near silence, listening to Tito rant about something in French that Connor couldn’t quite understand. It was now more than ever that he wished he paid more attention to M. Keene about passe compose back in his senior year.

The chatter subsides when all of them hear the familiar beat of boots on the gravel just behind them. Connor along with the rest of his fellow soldiers scramble to their feet in a salute while also muttering out some curses.

“At ease gentlemen. McDavid, Tkachuk, go relieve Strome and DeBrincat of their watch duties over on the north side of camp and tell them to get some rest.” 

Colonel Jonathan Toews is a force to be reckoned with, especially when he’s got a gun strapped to his side and a hunger for justice. You simply do not cross Toews unless you have a damn good reason to. And since neither him nor Matthew have such a reason to question their superior they grab their gear and guns and move forward to the north post right back behind the local church.

Matthew drags his feet along the road and groans every once in a while, flicking his lighter open and closed over and over, eventually lifting it up and lighting up the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He pulls out the pack resting in his jacket pocket and extends his arm out.

“Dart?” Matthew asks around the stick of tobacco. Connor takes one and places it between his lips, leaning forward for Matthew to light this one up too. 

The two men walk a short distance left up to the post, two small platforms secured to the sides of a schoolhouse where Dylan and Alex are currently leaning up against the railing, their rifles sitting beside them.

“About time you two showed up. Stromer’s ready to lose his mind.”

“Well _excuse me_ if staring at a tree line for the past three hours doesn’t enthrall me like it might with you,” Dylan quips back. He looks incredibly tired, more so than usual, so Connor really doesn’t mind taking over for him for a little while. Connor nudges Dylan and Alex down the stairs and towards the rest of the men before setting down his things and propping his rifle up on his shoulder.

“I got some letters today,” Matthew starts, pulling out some pieces of paper from the same pocket he keeps his smokes in. “Brady says that everything is slowly going to shit in Japan and Taryn just signed up for nursing back home.”

Connor nods along with what Matthew is saying while fiddling with his dog tags a bit. His eyes scan the same tree line that Dylan was complaining about when he sees something move through the bushes.

“So mom and dad-”

“Shut up for a second,” Connor hisses and scrambles to load and cock his gun. Toews never told them that there would be any visitors from any other platoon passing through that evening, and from the looks of what the person is wearing they are definitely not a civilian. 

Matthew pulls out his binoculars to attempt to get a better look, but when he finally catches a glimpse through the device of the mysterious person he nearly throws them at Connor. “You gotta tell me if I’m hallucinating. Fuck, look at his arm band.”

Connor slowly raises the binoculars up to his face and takes a look through them. Lo and behold is a man muddling his way through the tall grass on the outskirts of the town who appears to be in uniform. Connor can’t see his arm at the moment, but when he turns around slightly to look behind him Connor gets a quick glance at the red wrapping around his bicep, swastika in the middle.

It sends Connor into a panic and he rips the binoculars off so that he can leap over top of the railing, falling a few feet down onto the ground and Matthew follows suit. Their eyes are both wide in shock and Matthew is still scrambling to load a round into his rifle.

“Don’t shoot, yet,” Connor says, raising himself up onto his knees to get a look at where the German is now. He’s walking at a slow pace and he doesn’t appear to have any gear on him. His hands are out of his pockets and the expression on his face doesn’t seem malicious. “He doesn’t have a gun on him.”

“Does that _matter_. Fucking shoot him, Davo. Or I will.”

“No,” Connor replies, voice more stern than before. “Stay here and take the bullet out. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you right now.”

Matthew’s jaw drops open a little and he goes to stand up against Connor but he beats him to it. “That’s an order, Private.”

Matthew sinks back down to his stomach and slowly extracts the bullet, placing it in with the others in his pocket. He watches Connor start advancing towards the German man with a hand on the pistol strapped to his side. Matthew notices when it’s a second too late that Connor left his rifle on the ground next to him.

Connor’s heart is practically sprinting at this point knowing that he’s less than 200 yards away from a guy that may or may not want to kill him, and it's most likely that the former is the truth. His hand stays glued on the small gun tucked into the waistband of his pants and it shakes slightly.

The German keeps advancing but when he lifts his head up and tilts it a little to the right, he notices Connor and slows himself down and raises his arms up. Connor pulls out the gun and points it at him.

“Why are you here?” He asks, pulling the safety back on the pistol. “Where’s the rest of you?”

Matthew in the meantime is running back to the fire in a panic to alert the rest of the platoon and his Captain. Connor and the mystery man continue their stare down when he finally speaks, and much to Connor’s surprise he doesn’t sound fully German.

“I- I’m not one of them, I swear! Didn’t your Colonel tell you I was coming?” He asks, nearly trembling and not taking a chance to look Connor in the eyes but rather locks his gaze on the gun being pointed at him.

Connor scoffs and moves closer, now only a few feet away from the German man. He’s got a large cut on his cheek and there’s dirt everywhere. He’s sweaty and his hair is matted to his head, but even in the pitch black of the night Connor can still see his bright blue eyes full of fear staring in his direction.

The man shifts his line of sight to Connor now, his uniform in particular. “You’re a medic,” he says, taking note of Connor’s own arm band, only this one is white with a red cross in the centre of it. 

“And you’re a Nazi-”

“Jesus _Christ_ , McDavid! Lower your weapon,” the unmistakable voice of Jonathan Toews yells at him. Connor whips his head around to find his Colonel along with another Sergeant from the American platoon, Hayes he thinks, driving in at a good clip and they both hop out of the Jeep.

Connor is left gaping, looking back and forth between his superiors and what he now only thinks is the enemy. “But, sir-”

“He’s one of us, McDavid. Take him to the infirmary and get him patched up,” Toews waves him off and begins small chatter with Kane while leaving Connor a little shell-shocked. The man walks closer to Connor and he notices that he’s visibly tense. Connor feels a pang of guilt deep down in his stomach so he starts walking in the opposite direction of his superiors. 

The German walks next to him while looking down at the ground and scuffling his boots until Connor makes a sharp left into what looks like an old dentist’s office.

“Uh, just in here. I have to get some stuff from the back but wait,” he explains and gestures to a wooden chair next to a table with the faintest hints of blood stains. Connor isn’t fazed anymore but the German’s eyes linger on it for a second too long.

He sets himself down on the chair and looks around the office for a while, heart still pounding at the new territory he has yet to fully process. Connor, or as the German knows him, McDavid, comes back with some bandages and rubbing alcohol under his one arm and pulls up his own chair in front of him.

Before Connor can even begin working on the cuts littering the face of the man in front of him, words come pouring out of his mouth. “Who are you- why are you here?”

“ _Technically_ , I’m German-”

“Thanks, that’s really settling to hear when I should have probably shot you about ten minutes ago.”

He sighs, but the corner of his mouth nearly twitches up in a smirk at how utterly dry and blunt McDavid is. 

“My name’s Leon. Draisaitl. And _yes_ , I’m German-” he raises a finger up, almost to scold Connor. “But I’ve lived in Canada for the last eleven years. I work for the Allies.”

Connor tilts his head a little in confusion and a piece of hair falls down in front of his face. It makes Leon genuinely smile for the first time in probably six months. “I’m a _spy_ , McDavid.”

He nods slowly and runs his finger tips over the slight stubble that has been growing on his cheeks. He takes his other hand and grabs a clean cloth, dipping it in some water. Connor reaches up and gently pats around the scratch on Leon’s face sitting right under his cheekbone.

“You could have started with that,” he grumbles out as he works away, not looking at the man. “I’m Connor.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Connor,” Leon says, reaching up to take Connor’s hand in his and lightly drags his lips over his knuckles. Much to Leon’s surprise, Connor blushes. He clears his throat and pulls away to dip the cloth back in the water.

“Usually I have some pretty nurse taking care of me. Sorry- it’s instinct.”

Connor scoffs and wrings out the cloth. “No worries. Just, maybe don’t do that. Guys aren’t really accepting of that kind of stuff.”

“Like you?”

Connor contemplates for a moment what to say. Leon is practically a stranger, yet he doesn’t feel weird half opening up about his deepest, darkest secrets that he didn’t even know he possessed until a few seconds ago. “No. Not at all.”

Leon smiles a small grin at him, dropping the conversation to let Connor work his medic magic with no talking. 

The silence is broken by what Connor recognizes as Matthews and Marner barrelling towards the mess hall to most likely pick up some leftover rolls from dinner that evening. Mitch’s giggles carry through Connor's small medical bay and he smiles.

“It’s a lot more fun here than on the other side, I tell you that,” Leon huffs out with a smirk, but he seems sad almost. “I was with some SS officers that are being posted to Birkenau in a few weeks. That’s when I go back.”

“You’re going back?”

“I have to. They think I’m on a solo mission to find a man who went AWOL a month ago, but really I’m here.” Leon licks his lips and stares out the window into the darkness. “They’re cruel men.”

“Who?”

“The SS. And they’ll get worse in Krakow,” he explains now no longer talking to Connor, but that window to the left of him.

He’s scared to ask. He’s more so scared of the answer, but Connor leans closer anyways. “What’s in Krakow?”

Leon takes a deep, shaky breath in. “Death camps.”

-

Connor lays awake until he sees the sun start to move over the treeline and Toews is calling everyone to breakfast. That evening his brain never shut off, the things Leon told him still rattling around up there for him to think about into the ungodly hours of the morning and making him flip around in his bunk for hours.

Leon had been extremely vague about what’s happening in Poland, but somehow that’s worse for Connor. Him and the boys have all heard rumours about the things the Nazis were doing to people, more specifically the Jews, but everyone has just been hoping that a rumour is the extent of the story. Connor is starting to believe that they might in fact be real.

He slugs himself through the village and eventually pushes the doors open to the mess hall. He’s immediately bombarded with questions from his friends when he sits down with his quite frankly pathetic plate of eggs and toast.

“Who was that guy, Davo?”

“Chucky told us it was a Nazi.”

“Who is he-”

Connor sighs and throws a piece of his toast crust at Auston who just picks it up and eats it. “Would you idiots just shut _up_. He’s not a Nazi. He’s one of us; a spy for the Allies to get German intel.”

Quinn lights up a little bit. “Jack is gonna freak when I tell him.”

“You can’t do that yet, asshole. The Germans can’t find out that he’s not actually one of them. I have to take care of him while he’s here.”

Everyone nods solemnly and Connor breathes out a sigh of relief. They all eat their breakfast in silence until Connor feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. He spins around and sees Leon standing over him with his own tray of food and now decked out in a Canadian Army uniform. He likes Leon better when he doesn’t have a red armband on.

“Can I sit with you guys?” Leon asks. He feels like he’s back in grammar school and trying to make friends with the Canadian kids, still with a thick German accent. Most of them look at him the same way the other kids looked at him too, but Connor gives him a very small smile and nudges Dylan over before patting the now open spot beside him.

Leon wedges himself in and tucks into his food. Conversation goes back to normal and everyone groans when Chucky starts talking about this French girl he met and begins to convince Tito to translate for him.

-

Their stint in the small village is pretty short-lived when another platoon moves in to replace them, Toews and Hayes receiving orders to send their troops back into London to await their next orders. Leon has made it safely to the division, so there is no need for them to be there anymore.

Connor’s feet hang off the end of one of the trailers on the back of a Jeep and he watches the ground move beneath them. It’s nearing dusk and everyone is being lulled by the hum of the engines as they work their way into the city.

Mitch has long since fallen asleep on Matthews’ shoulder and Hughes is writing back home to his parents with his only source of light being the flickering flame from one of the newer guys’, Makar, lighter. Leon is smoking a cigarette beside Connor.

Pulling into London feels weird. Seeing people milling around and going about their lives as if there isn’t a war going on seems completely foreign to almost all of them, even though bombs are constantly being dropped on the country. Nonetheless it’s a refreshing attitude to be around. Leon hands over his nearly finished cigarette for Connor to take a hit off of and he does. 

Connor’s leg still dangles off the flatbed as he watches some kids kick around a soccer ball. He sucks on the butt end of the cigarette and flicks it into a puddle on the road. 

The group of them slide off the truck as it rolls to a stop in what looks like the outskirts of a small market. The same kids that were playing soccer, or as Leon calls it _football_ , are now closer to Connor and the rest of the guys, blinking up at them with large, curious eyes. Connor sends them a small smile which they return. 

According to Toews, there are tents set up in one of the empty clearings nearby that they would be staying in. The German advances on Britain are nearly nonexistent so there’s no harm in laying low and relaxing for a while.

For obvious reasons, Connor is bunked up with Leon in a small two person section of the larger barrack. He’s known Leon for a total of five days now, but he feels like he understands him more than he does his own brother. They’ve connected well which is probably for the best since Connor is to almost never have Leon out of his sight. So when Leon climbs up on Connor’s bed and watches him put some pictures on a shelf it’s no surprise.

“Is that your family?” Leon asks, pointing at one of the frames Connor just propped up. He nods and smiles a very rare Connor McDavid smile. “No girl?”

“What?”

“Do you have a girl? Come on, what are you? Twenty-two? Most guys I know are married by this time,” Leon points out fiddling with his dog tags. Connor swallows hard and shakes his head to the negative.

“No, I don’t.”

“Good to know,” Leon mumbles out and slides himself off the bed before Connor even has a chance to think about what he just said. 

Their moment of bliss ends quite suddenly when Mitch and Dylan come barging through the door, Mitch buttoning up his shirt. “The boys are all going over to a bar just down the road. You two should come.”

“I don’t know, Marns-”

“We would love to come, thanks Private. Meet you guys by the mess hall in five, okay?” 

Dylan and Mitch both nod and let themselves out. Connor gives Leon a glare and he just shrugs. 

“You look like you need a little fun, McDavid. And maybe a little alcohol.”

Connor huffs and grabs his boots from the floor and begins untying them. Leon smiles and claps him on the back before sending him a wink. Connor attempts to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck by pretending to be busy with his shoes. 

Marns and Stromer are waiting by the mess hall doors when Leon and Connor finally make their way through the camp. It’s getting dark outside with their only light being the street lamps and the windows of shops and restaurants. 

The four of them along with Auston and a few of the other men who Connor isn’t quite acquainted with yet walk a short distance to a bar that already seems packed to the brim with other soldiers and British girls.

Stromer automatically hones in on the drinks and practically drags Mitch with him, sending a ripple effect causing Auston trailing after them like a lost puppy. 

It really isn’t Connor’s scene, but he’s here to get just drunk enough that Toews won’t send him on a 20km run in the morning but that he’s going to feel good for at least a few hours. 

Somehow within a solid five minutes he finds himself holding a beer and sitting in a corner, watching Tkachuk strike out with yet another girl and Auston attempting to look subtle, pushing back a piece of Mitch’s hair. Connor already knows Mitch’s _thing_ with Matthews, but he’d never tell anyone. Not here. Not now. 

Speaking of, Connor is not sure why, but he’s drawn to Leon. And a stroke of jealousy hits him when he notices Leon flash one of his smirks that makes Connor weak at the knees at the bartender near the front of the room. He screams at himself inside and takes an aggressive sip of his drink. 

He suddenly feels stuffy and Connor decides he needs some air. He gets up and slips out the back door of the bar to go hang out with the garbage cans for a while. The evening is cool with a slight breeze, causing Connor to shiver slightly. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up, taking a long drag that instantly calms him down. 

He paces for a while out there, just taking in the sounds of the city and the music from inside the bar while he finishes up his cigarette. He’s taking his last drag when he hears the door open up behind him. 

“I was looking around everywhere for you. I thought you went back to the barracks.” It’s Leon. Of course it’s Leon, ever the prompt man he is. 

“Yeah, nah. Still here. Just needed… some air.”

Leon nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, scuffing his boots on the pavement. “I see.”

They fall into a quite frankly uncomfortable silence, waiting for the other to speak. Turns out, that person would be Leon after probably the longest fifteen seconds of Connor’s life. 

“Can I ask you something? I might be reading this wrong, or it might be… weird.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Leon takes a deep breath in and looks back at the bar for a second, Moonlight Serenade playing loud and clear even through the walls. “Do you want to dance?”

Connor is taken aback slightly. They’re out in public. Anyone could walk by the ally or come out that door and see them. He knows what happens to guys like him if the wrong person sees you at the wrong time, and being at war just adds onto the reasons why he may never get back to Richmond Hill. 

“Pardon?”

“Do- do you wanna dance? With me.”

Leon looks terrified, but Connor’s lips curl up just a bit into one of his signature not-really-there smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The approach is painfully slow, Leon shuffling forward and reaching out towards Connor’s waist. He finally slides one of his hands down onto his hip while Connor proceeds to wrap an arm up onto Leon’s shoulder and by his neck, sort of like he’s seen a lot of girls do with the other guys. 

Leon takes Connor’s free hand in his, linking their fingers together. “Is this okay?”

Connor’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes just how close Leon is to him and how low his voice got when speaking to him. His accent is pretty prominent and it makes Connor feel things that he’s been suppressing for a while. 

“More than okay.” 

Leon begins swaying ever so slightly and Connor follows. He hates to admit it, but when he was younger his mother taught him how to dance and made him practice. Except then he was never aware that he would be taking the role of the “girl”. But he likes the feel of Leon’s large hand on his hip. Like, a lot. It’s warm and comforting and feels like home. 

Leon doesn’t take his eyes off of Connor. It’s pretty easy, them being relatively the same height. They can feel each other’s warm breath in contrast to the cool evening and it’s honestly perfect. 

Leon sends a little smile at Connor.

“Hi.”

Connor laughs a little bit. “Hi.”

Leon’s smile drops ever so slightly and he leans forward at an excruciatingly slow pace. Connor stops breathing for a second and contemplates every possible way he could react. He nearly pulls away, but he lets it happen and prays to God that no one walks by. 

Leon presses his lips against Connor’s for all of two seconds before pulling away and nudging his nose against Connor’s. 

“Is… is that okay?” He asks, shifting his hand around to the small of Connor’s back. All Connor can do is nod and keep moving along to the music. Leon moves back in to press more kisses, breaks between them to smile, to Connor’s lips and he kisses back. 

Never in a million years would Connor think that his little slice of heaven would happen in the back alley way of a British pub in the middle of a war with a German spy, but here he is. 

The two of them stay that way for a while, or at least until Glenn Miller fades out. They just hold each other and that seems to be enough.


	2. Some Sunny Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is heavily based off of the history of World War Two and uses real life events, places and people within this story. Some of the subject matter within this story could be triggering or intense for some readers if uncomfortable with topics surrounding war, especially WWII and POW Camps. If you feel like this applies to you, please see the end notes for a more detailed and in depth description of the possibly triggering scenes and please read at your own caution. There is very little cute romance in this fic and more so focuses on the trials and tribulations that two gay men face in the midst of war.

_**London, England, October 1943** _

Connor wakes up to the setting sun blazing hot in his eyes. His shirt has been long gone from the heat of his barracks, dog tags clinging onto his chest from the thin layer of sweat. 

He grumbles and flips himself over to get a glimpse of where Leon is usually smoking a dart or reading one of the countless books he’s borrowed from a small library down the street from the camp. But today all he’s met with is some rumpled sheets and a cold spot. No Leon in sight. 

It’s a bit confusing, but Connor groans and growls until he’s up and feeding his belt through its loops while haphazardly tugging his bag up on his shoulder. Even in his haze he still manages to figure out that he needs to hit the showers and his feet drag him there. 

It’s a short walk and nearly everyone is out doing whatever their heart desires for the evening. Generally everyone is relaxing, smoking and drinking even at the ripe time of 1900 hours. From what Connor can tell, even Toews looks like he’s having fun and smiling with some of his men. 

The showers only have a few guys in them, Marner drying himself off with a towel tied around his waist and Wheeler shaving in front of one of the mirrors hung up on the wall. Connor tosses his bag into the corner of one of the stalls and strips down, slipping himself into the showers and letting the stream of water get warm. 

It’s nice after being out in the field doing more training than you can shake a stick at to come back to a warm meal and to be able to clean yourself off. Now with the water, on the cusp of being too hot, sliding down his back Connor can nearly feel all of his muscles relaxing and releasing all of the tension from the day bit by bit. 

Nevertheless it feels weird still to not be at his house in Richmond Hill eating his mom’s cooking and playing hockey with his brother and the neighbors down at the lake. But here he is, trying to scrub off the feeling of dirt and the lasting memory of the blood of his fellow soldiers who have been lost in battle. He’ll never forget watching Point, a kid from Calgary, bleed out in front of him with nothing else to do except watch the life leave his eyes. 

No one gets used to that. Ever. 

And Leon. He’s something else. He came into Connor’s life like some supernova, an explosion of light in a seemly perpetual darkness, forever fucking up his thoughts on reality and what his purpose in this world is. 

War teaches Connor how to fight, but Leon teaches him how to feel. 

-

_It’s a week after the multiple regiments of Canadian, American and British soldiers alike have finally settled into their new temporary homes in London. There’s even some other European guys there that Connor is not exactly sure where they’re from._

_Connor is face down in the dirt just behind a short wall of sandbags, rifle gently placed in between two of them. He pulls the trigger and the kickback moves his shoulder a bit. His shot though is dead in the center of the sandbag he was aiming at around 25 meters away._

_“You should have been a sniper, Schatz. Talent is too good to waste.”_

_Connor turns his head to see Leon standing above him, hopping down to sit in the baby trench they have crafted._

_“Should I be worried that you just called me a dick or something?”_

_Leon laughs and reaches over to pull the gun out of Connor's hands, placing it on one of the other sandbags further away from Connor._

_“Don’t worry I didn’t.”_

_Leon shifts close to Connor, pressing his thigh up against the younger boy’s middle as he’s still laying on his stomach which makes them both tense up a bit out of habit._

_Connor whips his head around and sits up fast. “Someone’s gonna see.”_

_“No they won’t,” Leon says, dragging his knuckles along Connor’s knee. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and Toews has got almost everyone on laundry and clean up duty. He sent me to find you.”_

_Leon smirks and Connor smiles gently, reaching to grab his hand. Leon leans in slow and brushes his nose against Connor’s before pressing their lips together._

_They’ve only done this a couple times since the bar and yet every time Connor feels this warmth deep down in the pit of his stomach ignite. Leon makes him feel the way only one guy back home has ever made him feel, and it was short-lived._

_He was a rich snobby dude, the ones you always hear about from Richmond Hill, who gave Connor the best two months of his life in the summer of ‘38 when he was younger and even more impressionable. The guy dumped him a week before school and him and his asshole friends shoved Connor up against a locker and called him a fag before second period started._

_Connor’s been careful ever since. But Leon makes him feel safe. And he prays to God it doesn’t end the same way._

_But Leon is kissing him with a kindness that no guy he’s ever come in contact with romantically has ever shown him. It’s unapologetic, confident and sweet all wrapped into one press of the lips in London, England. Connor’s hand slides over to Leon’s thigh and he rests it there, smoothing over the rough material of his Canadian Army uniform under his thumb right above his knee. Leon smiles into the kiss and pulls back, rubbing his nose up against Connor’s._

_Connor sighs and picks at the same fabric attached to Leon, now rolling it between his middle and forefingers. “What’s going to happen after the war, Leon?”_

_“We have to kill the son of a bitch Führer first. But then I promise it’ll be you and me back in Canada. Maybe we can get a dog,” Leon says, frowning at the mere thought of Hilter, but ultimately thinking of a future with Connor._

_“You really want that?”_

_Leon nods and presses a hand to Connor’s cheek to which he leans into, nuzzling his face to the side. Connor turns his head and presses a feather light kiss onto Leon’s wrist to which a faint blush creeps up Leon’s neck in response to._

_They’ll be okay, eventually._

-

Connor realizes he’s been standing under the water way too long when he feels it start to run cold and the sun from the small window to the side no longer shines as bright as it did when he got in the shower. He pulls himself out of his memory and manages to towel dry his hair and body before pulling on a white shirt and his pants, boots coming on soon after.

The day that Leon met him during his shooting practice was a week and a half ago, marking this evening as the official six week mark that Leon has been with Connor’s division. And that means-

Fuck. 

Connor doesn’t think about tucking in his dog tags into his shirt before he nearly runs over to his shared barracks with Leon. 

He pushes the door open to find one half of the room in immaculate condition; folded clothes on the bed, sheets tucked in neat and shiny black boots pacing around the packed dirt floor. 

His uniform is grey and a red stripe falls down the side of his legs. Even in the pitch blackness of the outside and the soft glow of the lantern sitting on the desk Connor can tell what Leon is wearing. 

“You’re leaving.”

The German spins around, now with his finely pressed uniform on full display. The two SS patches on his collar make Connor’s stomach churn, but it’s not like he didn’t know this would happen. It’s still a shock to his system nonetheless. 

“Toews said that he has an old Luftwaffe plane that the British repaired that I’m going to fly back.”

“You know how to fly a plane?”

Leon nods, shoving the red arm band he was wearing when he first met Connor into the small bag filled with other clothes and trinkets. “I trained as a pilot with the RCAF before I enlisted in the army to be a spy.”

Connor does forget sometimes that Leon is technically also enlisted as a German soldier and over the course of the past four years has worked his way up to a fairly highly regarded place in the Schutzstaffel. He should be a feared man and quite honestly is, but Connor has come to meet this side of him that the war has seemed to try to cover up. Connor knows the real Leon.

There’s a pause before Connor realizes the inside corners of his eyes are getting a little more wet than usual. “How long?”

“You might want to take that up with Hitler when he wants to wrap this war up. I’ll put in a good word for you,” Leon says, smirking ever so slightly.

“I won’t see you again, will I?”

Leon’s smirk drops and he puts down the bag he’s holding. He takes a single pace over to Connor and reaches out to take the ginger’s hand in his. “Dance with me, Connor.”

With his free hand Leon leans over beside him and takes a record out of its sleeve and gently places it down on the table, lowering the needle. Leon’s hand slides around Connor’s waist as Vera Lynn’s voice begins to fill the small space.

_We’ll meet again, do know where, don’t know when_

_But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day_

Connor wraps his arms tightly around Leon and takes in the smell of him; it’s like cigarette smoke, clean linens and musky cologne. He feels Leon, the soft yet firm dips and valleys in his back and sides. He’s a lot more filled out than Connor is which gives him an opportunity to get lost in the feel of him, for once in his sorry life to feel like the smaller one. To feel protected.

Leon’s hands are resting on Connor’s hips, his forehead pressed against the younger man’s as they sway ever so slightly to the music. They both savour this moment, knowing what’s about to happen within the next couple of hours.

Leon whispers in Connor’s ear as the song fades out. “I promise, darling. We’ll meet again.”

Connor attempts to wipe the single tear that fell down his cheek before turning to find a piece of paper and a pen on the same desk that the record player sits on. Connor scribbles something down before folding it and pressing it over the Third Reich emblem on Leon’s breast pocket, covering up the swastika and bird’s wings.

“I can’t write to you, but I’ll always be here with the division. Come find me after the war.”

Leon tries to smile. “If I make it-”

“Leon,” Connor scolds, blue eyes piecing through any sadness that they may hold. “Find me after the war. No matter what.”

Leon nods and covers Connor’s hand with his own, taking the piece of paper with Connor’s Richmond Hill address on it along with his army credentials and tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

He grabs his bag and places his hat on his head. Connor honestly can say that he hates it. Leon leans down and presses his lips firm onto Connor’s, lingering a few seconds longer than he should. He just wants to be able to remember what it feels like.

“Until tomorrow, Connor.”

He begins walking out, quiet thumps from his boots slowly getting further away and the creak of the door alerting his exit. Before he gets out the door Connor spins around. 

“Just in case.... I like sunflowers.” His throat is dry. “The yellow would go nice with grey or white stone.”

Leon’s face falls even more. “The yellow will make you look even more beautiful in the sunset at Richmond Hill.”

And then he’s gone.

-

_**Berlin Germany, November 1943** _

Leon feels weird. His uniform feels suffocating and it’s like a small part of him is now left behind. The linoleum floors are too loud under his boots and there’s too much German being spoken. It doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Large doors swing open and Leon is ushered in and finds a large group of men, many a lot older than he, standing around a table with a map sprawled out between them. The men turn their heads towards the door and smile at Leon’s presence.

“Sturmbannführer Draisaitl, come in.” Leon takes off his hat and places his briefcase under the wooden table made of fine oak and polished with a sheen so perfect he can practically see his own reflection. He looks tired and cold which isn’t even a hair different from the truth. But he puts on a smile and joins the rest of the men, the door closing behind him.

“How was your luck?” A man Leon has come to know as one of the highest ranking communications officers asks. Leon clears his throat and mentally switches back on his German.

“I found his body and disposed of it as you asked. The traitor will no longer cause you any sleepless nights, sir.”

He nods his head and scratches at his temple where greying hairs could be seen. “Good work Draisaitl. You should be very happy with yourself.”

“I am, sir. Thank you.”

The meeting goes on about things that Leon isn’t necessarily concerned about, mostly the operations in which the Nazi forces are moving and the plans of attack on Britain which makes him queasy inside. But near the half hour mark of the meeting his name is referenced again.

“We told you that you would be headed to Birkenau after your return, Draisaitl. They await your arrival tomorrow morning. The train leaves at five.”

He shakes his head to the positive and humphs out a response that only sounds somewhat enthusiastic. The pit in his stomach somehow gets bigger at the now known reality that he’s not going back to Britain anytime soon. Not until after everything is said and done in the war. 

He’ll write to Connor when he gets to Auschwitz, but until he gets to see him again there will be no true pleasantries. Only pain and suffering all around him.

“Thank you gentlemen, but I have to leave. I look forward to your correspondence,” Leon says, bowing his head slightly and beginning to walk backwards to the door. His back is to everyone and his hand is hovering over the golden handle when he hears something he honestly forgot about.

“Heil Hitler.”

His breathing stops and his whole body tenses. Leon’s hand is shaking now ever so slightly. He turns his head to the side and takes a deep breath in.

“Heil Hitler.”

Leon pushes the door open and walks back to his office as quickly as possible, feeling the slight urge to throw up.

-

_**Somewhere between Berlin and Birkenau, November 1943** _

He starts writing on the train. It’s not a long ride but just long enough for Leon to get down his thoughts to Connor. 

_Dearest Connor,_

_I’ve only been away from you for a week and it feels like a lifetime. As I speak I am on a train to the place I told you I would be going to, but I’m highly disgusted by it if I am being honest. It also feels weird to be speaking German so much again. It’s incredible how just six weeks can change a man, especially when someone like you is there._

_We are just pulling in now, but I’ll try to write to you as much as possible._

_Bis dann, my love xx_

Leon folded the piece of paper and shoved it into his small bag, feeling the train slow down beneath him. Outside the window reveals the perpetually gloomy looking row of barracks surrounded by tall chain link fences and barbed wire. Leon can see just the smallest bit of movement across the field but generally, the camp seems desolate. 

The train stops fully now which prompts Leon to get up and grab his things. Alongside him is a couple other officers who had been posted here as well, all of them exiting the train car before him. 

He’s bombarded with greetings as soon as his feet hit the ground, men and women alike shaking his hand and exchanging pleasantries with the other officers and guards before being ushered over to their living accommodations. To his left he notices the gate and its backwards letters, but he can still read it.

_Arbeit macht frei_

He knows better than to believe that. The smoke stacks puffing out dark, black clouds of ash into the air and the wretched smell of rot give Leon an insight to what it really means. Work makes you free? Not here.

Leon is led to a much nicer looking barrack on the opposite end of the camp where all of the so called workers stay. It smells fresh inside, like clean linens with a hint of cigarette smoke much like everything everywhere does. His room is minimalistic with a desk, lamp, chair, bed and small dresser to put his clothes. There’s also a closet with a rod to hang his uniform. 

He ends up tossing his bag onto the bed and pulls out his letter to Connor, finding an envelope in one of the drawers of the desk and tucking it in. He writes the address of Connor’s platoon and simply scrawling the last name McDavid makes him feel home sick. 

He places the letter into the same drawer he found the envelope and begins attempting to make himself not feel sick to his stomach about where he is by unpacking. 

The letter doesn’t have a return address on it.

-

**_London, England, January 1944_ **

“Connor, you got another letter. No address on this one either,” Dylan says, tossing the piece of off white paper onto his chest. Connor flinches when the corner of the envelope stabs his exposed skin but manages to snatch it nonetheless.

As soon as Dylan slips out of the room after a quick thanks, Connor rips open the letter and unfolds the paper carefully.

It’s only about the third letter that Leon has sent him, but he understands why they are so few and far between. It’s not like they haven’t heard of what’s going on over in Germany and Poland, but there’s still an element of mystery that obviously Leon can’t air to the world. It still makes Connor sick to his stomach at night.

He reads the letter over and over until he’s practically memorized what it says. Leon talks about the people that he works with and how he isn’t fond of any of them. He’s in administration apparently so he doesn’t see much of anything that’s happening, but from lunch conversations he doesn’t care much for his colleagues. He states that one girl, Helen, continuously tries to flirt with him but no dice, obviously.

Everything is generally pretty similar, and Connor understands that he can’t exactly say anything too explicit in fear that someone will discover his letters and their contents. He’s somehow been able to get himself off the property to mail the letter’s regularly without the SS staff breathing down his neck, so Connor isn’t too worried about the strange schedule of incoming correspondence. 

It kills him that he can’t write back, but every time Leon ends his beautifully articulated words the same.

_Bis dann._

He doesn’t know what it means, but he’s sure whatever it is Leon means it. He wouldn’t put it down every time if it didn’t _mean_ anything. That’s just how he is. Leon always knows what to say and when to say it. Connor misses it.

When he finishes reading, he tucks the piece of paper in with the others into his backpack before grabbing his coat and hat. It’s not necessarily as cold as it usually gets in Richmond Hill, but he’s been conditioned to get used to the European weather for the past few years and now shudders at the winds that nip at his face being sent up from the English Channel, now laden with sunken ships and crashed planes from the Battle of Britain.

Most everyone is in the mess hall eating dinner, and when Connor slides up next to Quinn he gets nothing but a little nudge on the leg from the younger boy. 

“Anything from Leon?”

He nods and shoves a piece of bread into his mouth, chewing silently. “He can’t say much but from what I know nothing is exactly great. People dying…”

Quinn’s small smile falls a bit and his eyes flick around quick. His hand instinctively finds the small Star of David pendant he attached to his dog tags a while ago that Zach gifted to him for Haunnakah about a month ago. 

“Sorry, Huggy.”

“It’s okay.”

Connor eats in complete silence now, listening to the rest of the guys talk with each other. He’s nearly finished when Toews comes striding in, Hayes by his side. 

“McDavid, Matthews. May we have a word? In my office.”

Him and Auston stand up and smooth out their uniforms, sending each other a quick look of slight confusion. Nonetheless both of them hop out of the bench and make their way behind the older men to a tent about 200 yards away from the mess hall. 

Toews is sitting at his desk already when they push through the door. “What can we do for you, Colonel?”

“We received orders from the General,” he says scratching at the bit of stubble on the underside of his jaw. 

“What does Bettman want from us?” Matthews asks. Hayes pushes himself off of the filing cabinet and moves slowly to stand behind Toews.

“We’re planning a new operation and we recommended you two of help be in charge of it. We’re taking France back, boys.”

-

It’s nearly rounding two in the morning and Connor has resorted to curling himself up in the corner of the room, legs tucked up to his chest as he works through reading the seemingly endless pages of the plans for Operation Overlord. 

Auston is leaning back in his chair, feet resting on the table as he also skims through the directions sent to Toews and Hayes, now being passed along to Connor and himself. 

“The divisions are going to be split up,” Auston mumbles out. Connor nods and closes his packet of papers, letting it flop on the floor of the empty office the two men were ushered into a few hours ago. 

“Yeah,” Connor sighs out. “We’re taking Juno and you guys are taking… Utah. How original.”

Auston lets out a little snort-laugh and nods. “Very.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Auston speaks up again, leaning even further back in his chair. “Take care of Mitch for me, would ya?”

Connor nods his head and smiles at Auston. “Of course, Matts.”

“Maybe we’ll find Leon while we’re at it. We can take him back home.”

Connor nods and only zones out for a second thinking about how _awesome_ it will be to bring Leon to Richmond Hill and just be with him.

“I know,” Auston says, more serious this time. “I _know_ , Connor.”

His throat goes dry. “About?”

“You and Leon. I see the way you look at him.”

Auston seems very calm and not even close to being mad. Connor thinks he knows why.

“Am I that obvious?”

Auston looks down, a piece of his hair flopping down in front of his face. “It takes one to know one, McDavid.”

Connor smiles at Auston and he returns the gesture in almost a silent solidarity. Connor understands.

-

**_50 Kilometers West Of Karków, Poland, May 1944_ **

He gets dragged out of bed in the morning, quite literally, with the back of his head smacking on the concrete floor with a thud. 

It can’t be more than 0400 hours and now there’s more than half a dozen men in Leon’s room tearing practically everything apart. 

“What the actual fuck-“

“Didn’t think we’d find this?” One of the men that Leon honestly doesn’t ever remember talking to says to him, holding up a slip of paper. It doesn't register until a few beats of silence later that it’s one of the letters he was drafting to Connor. “The address is all we need Draisaitl.”

A warm glob of liquid lands on his cheek and Leon cringes. A man who once called Leon a friend just spit on him like he’s nothing more than dirt under his shoe. 

Leon gets hoisted up by the elbows and practically dragged out of the room. He tries to talk with them, reason with them, but only gets shut up by a blow to the jaw and stomach. Leon isn’t exactly sure where he’s being taken but he does know that they’re outside when they throw him up against a wall before all backing up.

There’s around fifteen men now all staring at Leon, some with disgusted looks on their faces but there are still a few that look completely and utterly confused. They talk but Leon feels like his head is underwater, like he can barely understand anything that they’re saying. All he can think about is Connor.

But he notices when they line up and hold their guns onto their shoulder. He knows what’s about to happen, of course he does. He’s seen it nearly a hundred times outside his office window as he marks down the prisoner’s names and numbers into rows and columns. It’s the undesirables who were just too sick to go on or possibly the Soviet soldiers that were usually lined up here to meet their sudden end.

He knows it will be him in a few seconds and there’s no use in saying anything, as if they would suddenly change their minds on how to deal with a suspected traitor of the Führer. They yell more German commands and Leon closes his eyes while hearing them cock their guns. 

He’s still thinking about Connor, how he won’t be able to give him the life in Richmond Hill that he wanted with him. He’d have to wait, whether it be a few months until an accidental bomb goes off under his feet or many years until Connor is old and grey and watching the new millennium begin from a hospital bed hooked up to countless IV’s. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.

But when the shots don’t come and Leon doesn’t feel any pain he opens his eyes to find one of his superiors standing over him. He looks up to see the older man with a sour expression on his face, much like everyone else’s before.

“Get him up,” the Officer commands the soldiers who scurry to pick Leon up in the same fashion as he was dragged out of his room.

“I don’t understand why you just don’t kill me now,” Leon says, giving up on any hope of getting past the gates of Auschwitz alive. The Officer gives him a pointed look and he nods his head towards the train tracks. 

“You won’t be my problem for much longer, Draisaitl.”

His stomach drops and he gets hauled away towards what looks like the same train that he came on at first glance in the pitch black, but as it got closer he realized it's the same kind his uncle used to load the livestock onto when he was just a kid and went to visit his farm. 

The sides are boarded up tight and there’s only a small sliding door that one of the other guards unlocks, revealing the pitch black interior. They approach the train car and Leon feels a blow to the back, making him stumble forward onto the damp wooden floor of the box.

He scrambles back in defence until he hits the side and stares back at the Officer and guards watching him. The Officer shakes his head, one guard looks down at his shoes and the other pulls something out of the breast pocket of his uniform. 

He flicks it towards Leon with his middle and pointer fingers, the point of what looks like an envelope hitting him in the thigh. 

The door closed and he’s left in the dark. 

Leon can smell the rot on the train car and hear the echoes of himself shifting around in a weak attempt to get somewhat comfortable. It’s no use, but he doesn’t give up. The only thing he’s thankful for is accidentally falling asleep in his trousers, button up and boots or else he would be even a little bit more miserable.

There’s a small slit in the car that a bit of light is peeking in from the street light outside. Leon picks up the envelope and holds it near the light, trying to read it. He finally manages after trial and error.

Dishonourable Discharge papers and the warrant out for his arrest along with paperwork about their findings on his spy status for the Canadian and American army lay within.

He leans back on the side of the train car, tears prickling the corners of his eyes as he becomes away of the reality he’s about to face. Eventually a single tear rolls down his cheek and he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DETAILED WARNINGS (Contains Spoilers):  
> \- one use of the word f*g in a derogatory way  
> \- use of guns  
> \- a main character wears a uniform for the schutzstaffel (SS) which he is a part of undercover for the allies  
> \- a main character talks about his possibly death, specifically his tombstone  
> \- a main character gets posted to work at a concentration camp, auschwitz-birkenau, and there are mentions of what happens at them. no explicit descriptions  
> \- a main character in an attempt to keep his cover must “heil hitler” even though he is physically repulsed by it  
> \- a main character nearly gets executed, but instead gets sent to Bergen-Belsen, which is a nazi run concentration camp


	3. The Final Curtain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is heavily based off of the history of World War Two and uses real life events, places and people within this story. Some of the subject matter within this story could be triggering or intense for some readers if uncomfortable with topics surrounding war, especially WWII and POW Camps. If you feel like this applies to you, please see the end notes for a more detailed and in depth description of the possibly triggering scenes and please read at your own caution. There is very little cute romance in this fic and more so focuses on the trials and tribulations that two gay men face in the midst of war.

**_Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp, November 1944_ **

The thing about Bergen-Belsen is that it used to be exclusively a Prisoner of War camp. Leon read document after document in his what now seems like a fairly short lived time with the SS about the place. But ever since August it was taken over by Himmler from the Wehrmacht, leaving nearly all of the prisoners within the camp to slowly widdle away to the pale skeletons of the once happy and healthy people they once were.

Leon, believe it or not, is one of the luckiest ones in the camp. Even though he’s double patched, red and pink triangles on his uniform next to the number 2997, he hasn’t been at the camp nearly as long as some of the other people. There’s women, children and men who have been held in Bergen-Belsen, or Stalag X-B according to the Germans.

He had managed to get himself a job hauling laundry to and from the facilities where some of the women would wash the uniforms with what they were provided. It isn’t great, but he manages. 

Leon can tell that he’s lost a lot of muscle mass over the course of the few months he’s been living under the horrid conditions of Nazi Concentration Camps. He no longer has the bulk in his shoulders that he remembers Connor running his hands over countless nights in their bunk, talking about home and everything in between. He misses sharing the secret feather-light kisses as they watch the sunrise just above the horizon.

But his daydreams can only last so long until he gets dirty looks from the guards, knowing more than well that he better get back to his duties or else he’s going to regret it.

Alongside Leon is a Soviet POW who helps him out with the laundry and other chores who also thanks any god out there that they are lucky enough to be alive. He’s just a kid and seems to be in the same position as Leon equipped with red and pink triangles over his heart. That’s how they met. 

Leon was collecting some of the old uniforms that no longer belonged to anyone, attempting to not throw up or cry or both when a young man came striding over to him. 

“Let me help you,” he says, crouching down beside the German and beginning to collect some of the striped pieces of clothing. He has a thick Russian accent and speaks in English which makes Leon turn his head up, eyes wide in surprise.

He notices the similar patches on the young man’s uniform as well and they share a barely there smile. “I’m Leon.”

“Andrei.”

They stretch their hands out and shake them, grip fairly weak on both of their parts. 

But now, they lay awake on their sorry excuses for beds, pressed close together to try to share some body heat while they talk. It’s a nice change from the usual pitiful life they now lead.

The snow is falling outside and despite their lack of warmth, Andrei still finds some beauty in it.

“Don’t you miss it?”

Leon wraps his arms around himself and shifts around, accidentally bumping into the man behind him. “The snow?”

“My mother and I always used to bake Russian sweets around Christmas time. Our whole house would smell like cookies. It was my favourite thing when I came home from school. It was… good.”

A bit of the nippy wind cuts through the thin planks of wood that makes up the walls of the barracks where they lay and Leon feels it against the top of his head, now lacking the hair he once had as well as his jaw, now bare.

“I used to play hockey. Connor and I were going to do that when the war ends.”

Andrei flips over. “Me and Doug too.”

They fall into a familiar silence, listening to the wind whistling by and letting their minds wander to both good and bad places. “Do you think we’ll see them again, Leon?”

The German stays quiet for a few beats, a pit in his stomach growing exponentially.

“I don’t know, Svech. I don’t know.”

Both of the men don’t sleep at all that night.

-

**_The Western Front of Germany, December 24th 1944_ **

Mitch is handing Connor a cup of eggnog and sits down across from him in the corner of their foxhole.

“Barzy found some about a week ago and brought it with him, the crazy bastard,” Mitch laughs, plopping himself down within the mess of brush, snow and dirt. He takes a small sip, savouring the sweet taste and watching flakes flutter down and land in his cup.

Connor takes a sip himself and feels the warmth of it envelope his body. The simple pleasures have humbled Connor and he now appreciates them a lot more than he did when he was surrounded by the pretentious private school kids on his hockey team back in Richmond Hill.

He feels gross; mud and dirt cake the sides of his face and some has even worked its way into the folds of his clothes, scraping against the pale skin of his torso. 

“Merry fucking Christmas, I guess,” Mitch says, clinking his cup against Connor’s. “Do you think Auston and Leon are okay?”

Connor turns his head to the side, taking in the worried expression that crosses Mitch’s face that causes his eyebrows to furrow together. His fingertips tap on the side of his cup as a nervous tick. 

“I’d like to think so, Mitchy.”

It’s a white lie, of course. In reality a pang of fear echoes in the back of Connor’s head knowing that Leon hasn’t sent him a letter in months. Over half a year now.

Now Connor isn’t exactly the easiest person to track ever since June when all of Canadian, American and British soldiers took over the beaches of Normandy in an effort to reclaim France. Ultimately it was successful, the whole country now liberated but they had lost quite a few good men in the process. And through deductive reasoning it’s only logical that so did the Americans.

Even as Mitch and Connor speak they know that Captain Mark Scheifele is tending to his nasty wound on his leg from getting a little too close to a landmine. Connor himself nearly got grazed with a bullet on one too many occasions, and thinking that he deserves to live a little more than guys like Crosby who have been serving since he was 17 and was highly decorated is something that Connor just can’t seem to wrap his head around.

What makes him, a subpar medic at best, able to sit here with his best friend in a fox hole instead of in the place of what was once one of the most highly regarded men on the East Coast, who now gets buried in Beny-sur-Mer a hero?

He contemplates these things a lot, and oftentimes these thoughts will bleed into him thinking about Leon. Out of all the places and people to fall in love with it just had to be in the middle of a war with the so called enemy. Only Connor fucking McDavid would.

“We really are fucked aren’t we?” Mitch asks, pulling Connor out of his racing thoughts. Marner laughs dryly into his cup and Connor doesn’t miss the slight evidence of his eyes watering at the corners.

At least Mitch has heard from Auston within the last month. But Connor agrees, they’re fucked.

They move out tomorrow to head over to inner Germany while some other divisions that Connor has been told by Toews will start their campaign in Italy. Things are slowly coming together for the Allies it seems, but there’s still no telling what is going to happen in the near future.

And that terrifies Connor.

-

**_Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp_ **

Leon knows that he doesn’t look like himself anymore. He’s fragile and pale and he barely even looks recognizable anymore to the man he once was. But the fact that he still has some of his strength left after only being fed watered down tomato soup and stale bread for the past countless months will forever impress even himself.

He likes to think that it’s his will to live, which isn’t a complete falsehood, but the real reason why he keeps grinding it out and working like a dog despite how much he aches and how loud the pounding in his head seems to be is due to Connor.

He’s determined. He’s determined to see Connor again, to hold his hand, to dance with him to Vera Lynn at least one more time before he finally lays down to rest no matter what. Even one last glimpse of Connor’s flaming red hair blowing in the breeze would be enough for Leon to die a happy man.

And he prays to God every night before falling asleep with wooden planks dug into his spine that he gets his little slice of heaven back in his life even though he knows that he may not even wake up the next morning.

But he does.

He wakes up every morning and watches the seasons turn from the snowy hell that nearly a third of the camp doesn’t make it through seep into the promising spring foliage. There’s a poppy field in the far distance of the north side of the camp that Leon can see beginning to grow again which makes him smile.

He still carries laundry around and now often does it for the SS Officers as well, so at least he’s somewhat working his way up in the world. For his services he regularly gets extra rations of food most for the most part he doles it out to the children that also live within the camp with him. They truly break his heart to see.

The children often ask him about what his patches mean, as the Star of David that is sewn to most of theirs is much different than his red and pink triangles, to which Leon tells them stories about a brave Canadian soldier who is out there trying to help them and that the pink triangle is there because Leon loves him.

The children understand and many of them tell Leon to thank this mystery man when he sees him again. They make his days seem less painful.

But as the months wear on he notices something shift in the demeanor of the guards. They’re no longer taking count of the dead bodies and are hardly ever checking up on the prisoners or assigning them jobs to do around the camp.

Then one day in early April it all stops. No SS Officers report for duty that morning and any signs of the Nazis even knowing about the place had completely vanished.

Leon wakes up in a haze that morning, feeling a bit strange about the deathly silent sound of nothing at all. He rolls off the slab of wood first, Andrei following close behind him to be the first few in their barracks to witness the desolate outside.

The two POW’s find their way to the front of the camp near the gates that they were never allowed to even go near, let alone walk up to. Leon reaches out and wraps his hand around one of the thick iron rods that hold it together and is also connected by a massive lock sealing them inside.

Leon shakes the bars with any strength that he possesses, but no dice. It rattles around a bit but all in all he comes to the conclusion that there's no way to get out. All of the chain link fences are doubled up and are lined with numerous spools of barbed wire at the top and the only other option would be to attempt to scale the watchtowers which were no doubt locked with walls too sheer to climb without a ladder.

“Where is everyone, mister?” One of the children who Leon had been helping out with his chores last night asked, reaching out a thin and fragile arm to tap the older German on the hip gently. Leon shakes his head and looks down at the boy.

“They left us here.”

“The bad people can’t hurt us anymore?”

Leon blinks silently for a couple of beats trying to find an answer for the child. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a sad smile. “I guess so.”

It seems like a great thing, the Nazis no longer lording over them and increasing the rate that all the members of the camp die, but it’s still not settling to Leon. He takes a quick survey over the camp to see just how many people look like they are just about to take their last breath. He himself doesn’t nearly look fantastic either, but the amount of bodies laying on the ground curled in on themselves drops what seems like a boulder in the bottom of Leon’s stomach.

He hates to say it, but when the SS Officers were here at least they made it a little less painful for the most part, and also took somewhat care of the prisoners. But now with them seemingly disappearing, there's nothing. No food, no water, no basic medical supplies and no order. 

Leaving them all to die alone almost seems more cruel and heartless than any plan Leon had ever heard from the SS or even word of mouth from Adolf Hitler himself. It’s only a matter of time until the diseases start spreading even more and people start wilting away from lack of nutrients or dehydration at such an accelerated rate that they won’t be able to keep up. 

Leon pats the kid beside him on the head once, feeling the bristles of his hair that had been cut short a few weeks ago when he arrived and starts pacing around the camp, thinking. Because that’s all he can do.

-

**_40 Kilometers West_ **

Soviet soldiers had taken Poland in January, not long after the New Year, which means the Allied troops made the executive decision to move into the country to smooth things over and to also give them another vantage point to try to liberate Germany. The Canadians were also moving swiftly through Italy, British and French met up again to help claim Germany as well. But Toews and McDavid had been given orders to move through the Netherlands and back into the action of Germany.

The walks are long, Connor, Mitch and Dylan often talking mindlessly about anything and everything as they move along the endless paths and roads to hopefully get to somewhere they were supposed to be. They were not far off from Berlin where no doubt that sooner or later they would receive orders to take as well. 

They trudge along at a fairly decent pace, Tito driving a Jeep behind them that's loaded up with supplies. The ground is still wet from a couple days ago when it poured rain and Connor’s boots squish down in it. 

“Are we even trying to find something? Or are we just going to keep walking until we’re practically sitting in the laps of the Nazis?” Dylan asks, turning to Mitch and Connor with a half smoked cigarette hanging limp between his lips. 

“Can’t say either of us have an answer to that, Stromer.”

Dusk is upon them and it’s getting hard to see anything that could possibly be coming at them from down the road. Toews, who’s been walking alongside one of the newer guys and fellow Winnipeger, Private Nolan Patrick, calls off their march and instructs Connor to find a place for the Company to crash for the evening. 

Everyone halts as Connor drags Mitch along to help him attempt to find a clearing that’s just enough out of the way that they can stay hidden. 

“This isn’t how I expected to be spending my 20’s,” Mitch grumbles, swatting a branch away that nearly hit him in the face. 

“What, spelunking around the forests of Germany wasn’t on your to do list?”

“Surprisingly it wasn’t, Davo.” Mitch gives Connor a once over. “And it’s not even like you’re nice to look at in the meantime.”

Connor flips him off and shoves at his shoulder. “Sorry I’m not pretty-boy Matthews.”

Mitch feigns shock and laughs off Connor’s comment which causes the ginger to break out in a smile as well.

“There it is! I’ve been trying to get one of those out of you for like nine months,” Mitch says poking at Connor’s cheek in relation to his smile. A _genuine_ smile. Not one of those stupid controlled smirks he constantly gives out to Barzy when he makes a horrible attempt at a joke. The last time he smiled like how he is now was with Leon. That smile falters a bit. 

Connor shakes his head a bit, and while doing so accidentally looks to the left of him. He stops in his tracks, Mitch only stepping forward a few feet before turning around. 

“What-“

“Mouse shut up.” He points towards what caught his eye; a grey structure hidden within the trees made of brick and lined with barbed wire along the top. 

Mitch starts forward and Connor reaches out to grab at his bicep in a weak attempt to stop him. He gives Connor a pointed look and tugs his arm away to keep walking. 

They work slow to the structure, rifles pinned close to their sides just in case. But the closer they get the quicker they realize that their guns aren’t needed at all. They expect to see a guard on top of what looks like a watch tower to a gated complex, but when Connor and Mitch finally approach it just within the treeline they notice that there’s no one to be seen.

“What the actual fuck,” Mitch mumbles out, getting close to the chain link fence and weaving his fingers through the holes. Connor surveys the area and comes to the conclusion that there’s no way this place has been abandoned for long, maybe a few weeks at most.

There’s no mold or moss on the stone and everything looks generally clean, meaning that it would have had to have been kept up with over the winter months and the beginning of spring. Connor looks down and points to the very clear indents in the ground within the first line of fence that were clearly made from boots much more fashionable than the ones strapped to the feet of Canadian and American soldiers.

“You don’t think Zach was right about, you know, the camps being _here_ , do you?”

Zach Hyman caught wind of the idea from a couple French guys they met up with about one hundred kilometres west that on their path towards Berlin there’s one of the camps everyone has heard rumours about. No one really knows what happens in them, but all they need to know was that the population of Jewish people in Europe was declining fast, so all the stories lined up.

“Uh, Leon only told me about some in Poland. Auschwitz I think,” Connor recalls completely butchering the pronunciation, but still getting his point across. He begins walking to the right along the fenceline in hopes to find something. Mitch follows quickly behind, his gear bouncing along with him.

They get about fifty yards down until they see something they’ve only been told about by word of mouth. Something that they never wanted to believe to be true. A small scrap of what looks like it was once a shirt; grey stripes on a white background, the Star of David hanging on by a few pieces of hand woven thread.

It’s crumpled on the ground far past their reach, but it’s still evidence nonetheless. “Marns you have to go tell Toews.”

He nods frantically and stumbles backwards. “There’s a road on the other side I think. I saw it about half a kilometer back when we were walking. I’m telling Tito to drive the boys there.”

Connor nods and tosses his gun up on his shoulder using the strap on it. He keeps moving while he hears Mitch’s footsteps fade off into the distance. He’s alone now with his only option to keep looking around in hopes of finding something or in the worst case scenario, someone.

He opts for continuing on in the direction he and Mitch began going in out of simplicity but in the end gets him results for what he’s looking for the fastest. 

He sees the children first.

-

It’s been about a week and a half, two at most, since they camp had been left abandoned. Numerous Allied planes had flown just nearly overhead but not enough to spot them. Everyone is frustrated, hungry, thirsty and sick. Leon himself can feel the scratch in the back of his throat resulting in a dry, painful cough everyone once in a while. Still though he isn’t nearly as bad as most of the people.

The children are okay, they always have been. They make the best out of everything and don’t hesitate to assist the adults who are having a harder time than the others. Leon doesn’t think people give children enough credit and this just solidifies his theory to be true.

He’s laying down on one of the wooden slabs in the barracks on the furthest end of the camp, attempting to get some rest a little bit earlier than usual when one of the kids, who he thinks is named Philip, comes in and taps him on the shoulder.

“I saw a man! He’s by the fence!”

Leon’s eyes snap open and he hoists himself up. “ _What_?”

“He has a gun but his clothes look different then the men that took us here,” he explains, a big smile stretching across his face. “He’s here to help us!”

Leon drags himself up off of the wooden slab and the kid escorts him outside. To his surprise, Philip wasn’t lying. There’s a man, too far away to exactly see his face, but an Allied troop no doubt.

“Holy shit,” Leon mumbles out before Philip is tugging at his sleeve to move closer to the fence and he follows. 

He keeps his head down for the most part, listening to Philip ramble on about what he’s going to do after they get out; something about making cookies and playing football with his German aunts and cousins. Leon smiles along with him and nods to his story. 

When they finally get within around ten yards of the fence, Leon lifts up his head to get a look at the man who noticeably hasn’t moved since he began wandering over closer to him. Many of the kids who were playing with Philip were crowded around the Allied soldier, all asking him questions at the same time. Even some of the adults who could still function well stand there begging him to help them get out.

But as soon as Leon looks at the soldier, really gets a good look at his build and flaming orange hair, does he realize who he’s staring at.

“Connor?”

-

Connor lifts his head to see an all too familiar face staring back at him. He recognizes Leon right away, but the longer he looks the more his heart breaks. There’s deep purple bags under his eyes, his hair is cut fairly short and a patchy scruff is growing down his neck which is something he regularly would never let happen.

His clothes, both his SS and Canadian Army uniforms, would always cling to his body in a way that would make Connor’s mouth practically water. He always looked so powerful and stoic with his neat pressed collared shirts and boots so clean you could practically see yourself in the gloss on the toe.

But now he looks nothing even close to that. His weight dropped astronomically and the uniform that Connor assumes was the Nazi’s gave him would have at one time fit him perfectly, yet now they hang off of his slender frame. And it’s not like he’s the size of Mitch per se, who is one of the skinniest fuckers this side of the English Channel. He’s malnourished and nearly all of his muscle mass that he once took pride in is gone.

“Holy fuck,” Connor breathes out quietly, tears beginning to brim his eyes. He frantically whips his head around to see if there’s any possible way of getting in. “Are the-”

“They left us here about a month ago, maybe. I can’t keep track. Locked us in,” Leon explains, German accent more evident than ever. Connor stares at him with those big blue eyes Leon missed so much, but they’re filled with pain and sorrow. “The gate is around that way.”

Connor looks in the direction that he points to which also happens to be where Marns told him that he would instruct the rest of the 2nd Battalion to go. Connor nods both to himself and to the people in front of him before hopping into a run and making his way around the perimeter of the camp.

Just as he sees the gates at the front he gets a decent look at just the sheer number of people huddled up together near the front by the dirt road just past the rod iron railings secured tight with thick chains and bolts.

He hears the low hum of Tito’s Jeep in the near distance which makes him feel somewhat better, but he still feels almost lightheaded. Connor doesn’t really register much when they break their way into the camp by Tito revving up the engine and driving directly through the gates, but his present consciousness does come back when he drags Dylan and Mitch along with him towards the furthest barracks.

Connor spots Leon immediately and practically sprints towards him while Mitch and Dylan hang back to talk to some of the children and attempt to help them as well. But when Connor breezes past said kids to get to Leon he nearly breaks down.

Leon gives him a strained smile and wraps his arms around Connor when he’s close enough. The ginger carefully snakes his hands around Leon’s centre, but is automatically put off by just how much of his ribcage he can feel. Connor breaks down sobbing right then and there.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out into the collar of Leon’s striped clothing. “I’m so _fucking_ sorry, Leon.”

Connor feels a gentle hand grip the back of his neck, squeezing gently in a weak attempt to comfort his boy. His boy that’s finally back to him, back home.

“Connor it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left my letter to you out.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Leon pauses before nodding into the crook of Connor’s neck ever so slightly. “They found out I was working for the Canadians and sent me here.”

The younger man pulls away and blinks up at Leon with his watery blue eyes, the edges red and puffy from his gentle sobs into Leon’s shirt. Even his own uniform is stained with tears that fell from Leon’s eyes as well. 

Leon reaches up and swipes his thumb over Connor’s cheek, smearing his tears along his cheek bone. “I’ve thought about you every day; thought about what I would give to have you back in my arms again.”

Connor whimpers a little bit and leans his head into Leon’s hand. He feels like his whole world is crashing down around him, uncertain if he’ll ever be able to build it back again. But Leon’s _alive_ , and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

They stay there, taking each other in until Mitch comes over and instructs them to start working their way towards the front of the camp. They follow suit, Leon a bit slower than what Connor remembers him being like. Every once in a while he’ll feel Leon tap the back of his hand to remind him that he’s there, and Connor nearly breaks down for the third time.

It’s painful to watch the rest of their friends try to help the horribly sick and dying people who lay on the ground, praying that they make it to a base. Makar had called in for backup right as they got in the camp, specifically an the American unit they once resided with in Britain that was no less than two kilometres away. 

Matthews and Hayes make quick work of their men, sending orders to get anyone still able to walk to climb into the trucks and the medics to try their hardest to assist the worst of the bunch. 

“McDavid! We need you over here,” he hears Toews’ voice bellow over the low chatter and engine sputtering. Leon looks at him and nods before wandering away a few feet. 

“Leon?”

He spins around. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Even in his torn, stained uniform, his hair cut shorter and scruff with neck beard on full display, Connor still thinks Leon is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. 

Leon’s mouth twitches up in one of his smirks that Connor so dearly missed. 

“I love you too, Schatz.”

-

_**Ottawa, Ontario, Christmas Eve 1946** _

Connor’s hands shake slightly as he fastens his dress uniform together. The golden buttons that line the front slip easily into their respected slots which smooths out the look of the jacket. 

His tie sits perfectly straight underneath the moss green fabric and on top of a newly pressed beige dress shirt. His boots scuffle along the wooden floorboards as he walks over to the vanity where his medals lay. He picks them up: the 1939-1945 star, France and Germany star, Canadian Volunteer Service Medal and War 1939-1945 Medal all one after another to be clasped on to his right side.

He’s still in the service, now teaching young medical professionals the inner workings of doing their job in the military. He loves it, but he knows his time out on the battlefield is over even at the ripe age of 25.

Leon is a different story. He retired from the army right after the war, now a Canadian Veteran and using his degree managing an autoshop down the road from the base that Connor works out of. 

But one way or another, the military pulls you back in. This time, it’s for a Christmas party hosted by Mitch at the legion where he invited all the Vets and current members of the Platoon they were a part of alongside those of Auston’s if they so choose to join. Connor only thought it’s appropriate to wear his dress uniform to such an occasion. 

He’s facing the wall and putting together his cuff links when he feels a large hand slide around his waist where he just recently fastened his belt. 

“You look good,” says a low voice, still with a hint of a German accent in it, in his ear. Connor smiles and covers that hand on his waist with his own. “You should wear it more often.”

“Yeah, and Toews will be _thrilled_ by that,” Connor snorts out, tilting his head to the side to get a look at Leon. 

He expects a regular suit, maybe that blue one he looks so good in, but Connor is greeted with Leon’s own dress uniform, similar to Connor’s but also with a purple heart secured to his lapel as well as two chevrons on his sleeve opposed to Connor’s own that are accompanied by shoulder patches. 

It’s no secret things haven’t been the same since the war ended over a year ago. Both Leon and Connor wake up in cold sweats after dreaming up some horrible scenario that usually involves one of them dying often. But the other is always there in bed and quick to comfort in those trying times. 

It’s also strange, for Connor at least, to constantly have Leon there. It’s not a bad thing, but he would have never guessed before enlisting that his life would end up the way that it has. It’s not Richmond Hill, but he’ll take Ottawa over Nazi Germany any day. 

So would Leon for that matter. He barely ever talks about what happened. He once broke down in sobs and told Connor everything that happened at Bergen-Belsen, but never again. That was about six months ago, and now is the first time Connor has seen Leon in his uniform since the war. 

“Why the uniform?”

Leon shrugs and places a gentle kiss on Connor’s cheek. “Well, if I showed up in a regular suit I would look pretty stupid, wouldn’t I? Plus, there’s this gorgeous man that I’m going with, and I can’t be seen with him looking underdressed.”

Connor laughs and shakes his head. “We wouldn’t want that.”

“Future Army General, he is.”

“Is he now?”

Leon smiles wide and drags his hand up to rest on the side of Connor’s face. He does it often, but Connor thinks back to when he did it for the first time back in the camp. He looked horrible then, and neither of them are too naïve to not notice that. He looks himself again; strong, muscular and oh so Leon. 

Connor leans forward and captures Leon’s lips in his, knowing full well that they won’t be able to do this sort of thing at the Christmas party. Even if Mitch could give two shits for obvious reasons, they can never be too careful. 

Their mouths move slow against each other, savouring the shared taste of Leon’s mint gum and Connor’s cigarettes against each other’s tastebuds. They pull away softly, Connor’s bottom lip catching between Leon’s teeth for a split second right at the end. 

“Remember how I would end all my letters?”

Connor recalls the stack of them in his desk drawer momentarily. “It’s German… you never told me what it means.”

“ _Bis dann._ It sort of means ‘until tomorrow’, in English.”

The younger man shakes his head to the negative for a split second. “I don’t understand.”

“When I think about tomorrow, I don’t think literally. Tomorrow has always been a time down the road when life is better, when I’m completely and utterly happy. I always pictured that with you.”

“And a couple dogs.” Connor smiles to himself. “You told me before you left Britain.”

“Exactly.”

The way Leon looks at Connor makes the ginger weak at the knees. He looks so in love that it hurts. So in love that he doesn’t even care that he was going to be killed for it at one point in his life. He was threatened with the end of his life, yet the only thing he could think about was getting back to the man he loves. 

“I’m so in love with you, Lance Corporal Draisaitl,” he whispers out pressing a kiss to his lover’s nose. 

“You _are_ my tomorrow, Lieutenant Connor McDavid.”

Yeah, they’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DETAILED WARNINGS (Contains Spoilers):  
> \- descriptions of what happens within the concentration camps (please refer to websites of information for further detail)  
> \- description of a character after months of living in the conditions of the camps which is historically accurate of the real prisoners  
> \- smoking cigarettes  
> \- use of guns
> 
> If you would like to support Canadian veterans, donate here: https://www.legion.ca/

**Author's Note:**

> DETAILED WARNINGS:  
> \- use of guns, specifically rifles and pistols  
> \- smoking cigarettes  
> \- a main character wears an armband with a swastika on it because of being part of the german army  
> \- mentions of nazi concentration camps
> 
> If you would like to support Canada’s veterans, you can donate here: https://www.legion.ca/


End file.
